My Pregnancy Story.

If you’ve ever taken a Psychology class, even an entry level Psych 101 at most schools, you’ve probably heard of the 5 stages of grieving. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. That’s usually the order they come in, but for me they skipped around because I was going through them with someone else.

Nate’s been the shortest relationship I’ve had, so far, and 7 months in I found myself pregnant. Crazy thing is, I wasn’t upset about it. Here I am, 23 years old, and I’ve been telling everyone and convincing myself that I don’t want kids until I turn 35, mainly because there was this fear in my head that I couldn’t have them at all. I wanted my degree from The Ohio State University, I wanted a career that’s blossoming and advancing faster than I can keep up with it, I wanted a beautiful (yet simple) diamond ring on my finger first. July 24th, after waking up from a nap and barely being able to move my limbs to get up out of my cocoon of a bed, I decided to pee on a special little stick that would evidently change my life forever. I was feeling fatigue that I’ve never felt before, not even comparable to my Varsity track days where practice kicked your ass. While on the phone with my best friend in the universe, I watched the stick absorb and slowly but surely two very very undeniable blue lines popped into the circle screen, and into the oval screen. Pregnant. At 23.

Nate found out by a phone call, because he was down in Kettering out for a run with his close friend from high school. She heard the entire conversation making her the second person to find out. Next, I told my older sister, through hysterical tears as guilt coursed through my veins, seeing as she has had struggles of her own and here I am with an “oops baby” as some people like to call it. Next, my other sister, who I Facebook messaged the next morning, and the day after that my mom....who was surprisingly excited and supportive. My mother is a fantastic woman, the only reason I had any uncertain feelings as to what her reaction would be is because she is Catholic....super Catholic. And I wasn’t exactly a wife yet if you get my drift. But granbaby #3 trumped religion for a second and she was actually excited. Nate slowly began telling his close friends and family after about 2 solid days of pure panic, which is only natural for any 24 year old man who just found out he got his girlfriend pregnant.

So I bet you’re wondering why we told people so quickly instead of waiting for the “window” to pass, or “safe zone”. You know? That first 3 months where every woman has an increased risk for miscarriage. Well 1.) I told the people who would actually stay by my side if something did happen, people who I wouldn’t be embarrassed to tell. And 2.) I needed guidance, so people HAD to know. To address the other elephant in the room, abortion was not an option. You’ll be surprised to find out I’m pro-choice but MY CHOICE was to go through with it, Nate stood by my decision and by my side the whole time. To me, it wasn’t an option because a women extremely close to me has had every complication imaginable, and has struggled big time with conception. It would be unfair to be like “WHOOPSIES! Let’s just suck that baby out so I can avoid this whole kids thing, *phew* crisis averted!” and move on with my life. TMI alert: but neither Nate nor I were exactly doing anything to avoid it...so being the two adults we are, we owned up to responsibility and continued on with our relationship, that was now advancing WAYYYYY faster than we ever thought it would.

So August 5th rolls around and we have our first ultra sound, which they try to schedule for about 8 weeks. It’s an internal ultra-sound so talk about awkward, your boyfriend by your side as another man sticks his fingers up your hoo-hah. Then probes around with a stick.....a lubricated stick. Yeah, good times. Bonding moment for sure.

Ya see, for a woman like me, there are tons of moments where that heightened risk for miscarriage controls your entire mind. That appointment was the first time I had a sigh of relief, the baby was up where it should be developing and it was growing just fine, it’s teeny tiny heart could already be heard. I left that appointment feeling fine, the next one scheduled for 4 weeks-ish from then. So 4 more weeks went by with the obligatory freak outs here and there, and by the time I left my 2nd appointment on September 2nd, with good news once again, I was feeling good about this little guy (that’s what we both wanted! A boy!) He was a little fighter and was clearly there to stay, growing rapidly and making mama extremely fatigued, with massive headaches and Arby’s cravings 24/7.....really just arby’s sauce.

So here’s where things took a minor detour. Just a week later we both opted for an optional 1st trimester ultra sound where the baby would be tested for Down Syndrome, Trisomy 13, and Trisomy 18. See, for me, I just wanted to be able to mentally prepare myself for having a special needs child. Would I love them any less? Absolutely not. But it’s just something I wanted to be able to get ready for, mentally, knowing his/her life would be a little bit more challenging than other babies. So I go into that appointment with my paperwork filled out, bladder full as they tell you, and I’m feeling good....especially after watching their 9 minute video where the statistics all seemed to be in my favor, the one major influence of having a child with Downs is age, the risk goes up as you get older. Being under 24, my risk was 1 in 1040. That’s great odds. I was obviously just hoping for a healthy baby, once again...not that I would love it any less with special needs, but every woman hopes for a healthy baby. Not for her own sake, but more for her child’s sake, so they can live life to the fullest.

So an hour and 15 minutes after my appointment time they finally call me back, I couldn’t hold the pee so I had to empty my bladder and chug more water...I went into that ultra sound room worrying about a stupid extra chromosome and my bladder not having enough pee in it. This was going to by the 2nd time I saw my little man, seeing as the last appointment was just a doppler (hearing the heartbeat, not seeing him). So the nurse starts the ultra sound and I see a little baby, like.....it looks like a baby not a pinto bean. Damn, those little things grow A LOT in a month. Thanks to the umbilical cord it’s actually moving around in there alerady, at that moment....I was finally at peace. Seeing it as an actual baby made me realize I didn’t care if he has some silly little disease, I’m going to love this baby no matter what! I’m going to take care of him no matter what! Extra chromosome or not, 12 toes or not, WHATEVER! Nate and I made a tiny human....and that’s fucking awesome. I’m going to be proud of my tiny human. I was finally 100% worry free, this baby was fine....and I was happy. 12 weeks in and I had done it, all he had to do from here on out was grow. It was worth the caffeine withdrawals I had at the beginning, and the Jimmy Johns sandwiches I couldn’t eat for the next 7 months, and the coffee flavored ice-cream I had to skip out on until March. And then....my life changed forever. Within seconds of finally being at peace the nurse conducting my ultra sound said, “I’m a little concerned about your baby’s head, I’m going to call in the doctors” followed by 2 words that no woman wants to hear ever, “I’m so sorry.”

So in walks this old man with his white coat, and his colleague with her’s...and they sit down on either side of me, lower my chair down even flatter and “thinking out loud” and they talk about how my little man doesn’t have the top of his skull. Within minutes I was told everything that was going on, none of it made sense to me so I wasn’t really sure what exactly he had, all that stood out was “he’s not gonna make it to term, I’m so sorry...is there anyone you would like to call?” Oh yeah, that’s right, didn’t tell you.....I was there by myself for that appointment. Why should Nate have to take off work for a routine ultra sound and results that would be mailed to us days later? So I was there 100% solo. I had to call him myself, with 5% battery in my phone, between sobs tell him our baby wasn’t going to make it, and to come in immediately. I was able to text him the address and call my mom as well, before my phone died. They got there within 5 minutes of each other and I didn’t REALLY lose it until I had to look up at my mom, who is a medical interpreter.....who knew the specifics of what was happening. Knowing she already knew what was going on, simply by telling her the disease it had, made me break down. I had no reason to stay strong anymore. So I sobbed, in my mother’s arms. I was in the 5th floor of Martha Moorhouse at Ohio State, when I found out my firstborn was never going to be born at all.

In the days following, my relationship with Nate just got intense in all the right ways. I’ve never felt so supported and loved in my life. He could have walked away and never looked back and the first thing he really said was “we’ll try again in a year.” He’s been by my side since day 1 and I’m ashamed to admit that I thought he would leave me over this. Being proven wrong was the best feeling I’ve ever had. We had an appointment with the OBGYN who was going to deliver the baby, and a follow up where we made the decision to either have a D&C, where they “clean you out” surgically, or let it pass on it’s own. We agreed on the procedure so that we could just get the nightmare over with. Letting the baby grow increased that chances that I’d actually have to deliver him, not just have a plum sized fetus extracted. I know, in my soul, I wouldn’t make it through that. I couldn’t handle it. So we schedule an appointment for the 16th of September to have the baby removed at Ohio State Medical Center. I don’t know how this whole thing will change me, but once I can compose myself to write about it....I will. You see? Nothing is placed in our life paths that we can’t handle. I truly believe that. But when something like this happens you feel alone. I’m writing this because I want other women who have gone with through this with their significant other to know that they’re not alone.

So far Nate has gone through Denial, and Anger....I went straight to Bargaining. “Where did I go wrong?” “Was it because I forgot my prenatal 2 days in a row?” “Is God punishing me because I’m not married?” “......is there a God?” “Why?” “Why me?” “Why Nate?” I’ve spent the past 3 days watching How I Met Your Mother, on Netflix. I get off the couch to pee and eat, and feed the dogs. I think I shower once every 48 hours. It’s safe to say Depression has hit me like a brick wall. I only get to call myself a mother for 3 more days, then I have my procedure done to remove my baby, stop it’s heart and take it out, detaching it from my body where it’s been feasting off Arby’s roast beef and granny smith apples for the past 3 months.

A 1 in 1000 disease, but if I have to be that one so that 999 other woman don’t have to go through this then bring it on. I would never wish this upon any woman, but I am strong....I will endure the pain, make it through, and try again in a year. Maybe I’ll even get my timeline after all and have that ring on my left hand. For whatever inexplicable reason, it happened. It still hurts but it happened. I’ll let you know when I’ve finally Accepted this whole thing....don’t expect anything for a while. I guess shit happens, and life is a brutal bitch sometimes. It’s time to put that bitch in her place and show her who is boss. Can’t bring me down life. I’m a fighter. UPDATE: Sadly, as medical bills roll in after the procedure, we're finding ourselves in over our heads. To anyone willing or wanting to help out in any way, we set up a page for donations...anything is greatly appreciated. Link Below** DONATE HERE **